Identities in Queue
by ToasterPoet
Summary: A girl traveling with Eragon and Murtagh must decide how to react to the unveiling, while she keeps secret an identity of her own. MurtaghOC


The Identity

The rush of water pounded in on Desdemona's head from every direction as she surfaced. Strands of her black hair remained stuck to her face as she floated slightly into the shallower water, away from the cool assault of the waterfall. She dipped her head back under in a slow movement to the slick away the blindfold of hair. She wiped the water out of her eyes…and saw at least a dozen spears surrounding her.

Alarmed, she back-pedaled a coupled of feet. Eragon and Murtagh both remained motionless by the waterfall. The spears did not move any, however, and instead their holders ushered the three of them roughly into a small cave on the nearby land. They were mere men, most of them older, who glanced shiftily at them, especially Eragon, while they walked.

Eragon caught Desdemona's eye, his eyes showing as much confusion as hers. She wasn't sure whether he was conversing with Saphira as they walked or not.

_What if he can't?_ She thought suddenly, bringing on a fresh wave of fear and panic. _What if something's keeping him and Saphira from talking? What if these aren't the Varden?_

Arya's memory had only instructed Eragon so far as the waterfall.

_Will Arya get help in time?_

Eragon's face had hardened only slightly, and Desdemona was fairly sure that his thoughts mirrored hers. Murtagh was indifferent, solemnly marching along.

A dark-skinned and balding man with fierce eyes received them as they entered the cavern. His dark eyes trailed over the faces of Desdemona and Murtagh only briefly, lingering longer on Eragon.

As he first addressed them, his voice came out in a deep rumble. It reminded Desdemona vaguely of her late grandfather back at home. There were very few words interchanged before they dove straight to the point.

"We've come to help the Varden," Eragon stated coolly. His blue eyes were oddly set; he had certainly grown more mature through the troubles of their travels.

The man nodded, his eyes still bearing into Eragon's with intimidating ferocity.

"Which of you is the rider?" He said, his words stirring the faces of the people that surrounded them.

"I am." Eragon replied.

"Call your dragon."

Eragon's eyes searched the man's for only a moment before his face set once again. Before anyone could move a breadth of an inch, Saphira came roaring through the opening of the cave. Her massive blue body swallowed up the small room, and the entrance closed behind her by unknown means. Arya lay motionless on the saddle.

The man's eyes alighted on Saphira in awe for several seconds. It was clear that the sight of a dragon struck some chord within him. He seemed to accept Saphira as a sign of their allegiance though, and his eyes left her to search their faces once more.

To Eragon he only bowed his head slightly, showing respect to his status as a Dragon Rider. He looked at Desdemona next, as she stood only inches behind Eragon, hair still dripping from the water. At first he seemed to dismiss her as some sort of meaningless associate; a friend along for the ride. She was ready to breathe a sign of relief when she saw the corners of his mouth turn up and his eyes light with recognition.

He knew. She glared silently at him warningly, and he seemed to get the message. His eyes lingered only a second in question before moving on to Murtagh.

Although she didn't really know the first thing about his past, Desdemona hadn't been expecting the man to notice anything about Murtagh. His entire past life was shrouded in mist and according to Eragon had always been. Still, she would never have foreseen how long the man's eyes bore into the boy's stoic face…and especially not his words that followed.

"Seize him." He commanded, followed immediately by the movements of two of the men to Murtagh's side.

Desdemona gasped and looked wildly to Eragon for an answer, but he had none.

"He's with me," said Eragon.

The man shook his head slightly, raised a hand to point at the older boy as though he were a snake.

"This is Morzan's son."

_Oh my god…_ thought Desdemona. _He's definitely the bad guy's former servant-who's-now-dead's probably illegitimate son._

Eragon's face showed no surprise to speak of, and Desdemona assumed Murtagh might have already shared this with him prior to her joining them. She herself had no idea what to make of this new development. Morzan was the first and last of the Forsworn…the betrayer of the Riders, and Galbatorix's favorite until his death at the hands of Brom.

Murtagh's face was as set and determined as always. His brown eyes blazed harshly into the man's own accusing ones, looking nowhere else. Desdemona felt the slightest tinge of disappointment that he refused to meet her eyes.

"A son does not choose his father." He said stiffly, his voice coming out dark and meaningful.

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Ajihad, the dark balding man, had not seen Murtagh's reason, and had him imprisoned. Or rather, he had constrained him to quarters deep within the bowels of Tronjheim, since the Varden feared offended the Rider. Eragon had admitted to Desdemona as they were introduced to the various members of council that he had indeed known of Murtagh's secret.

Desdemona groaned, rubbing her temples wearily with both hands. She had been escorted rather kindly to a nice room of her own as Eragon was showed to his and Saphira's dwelling. It was not the living quarters that troubled her now though, as she couldn't complain for comfort.

"What am I supposed to _do_?!" She shouted in frustration, as though something in the room would give her an answer.

Exasperated, she pushed herself off the bed and crossed the room to a mirror on the far wall. Her dark hair had been combed carefully off to the side by servants, her pale skin glowing in its elegant part. Evidently, Ajihad had known_ exactly_ who she was. Not that she hadn't taken care of that problem in her own way…after all, she had always had a way with words.

Desdemona smirked in almost cruel self-satisfaction as she gloated over her handiwork. She could certainly get used to handling her own affairs, something she hadn't been allowed to do at home. Sighing, she stared into the mirror, as though expecting some hint from her reflection…but the girl in the mirror only stared right on back at her, blue-green eyes conveying clearly that there was no other way for this one.

Sighing, Desdemona crossed the room once more and strode out the door. The hallways were dark, as it was late into the night at this point. Navigating the maze of long hallways was a lot harder than it seemed, but Desdemona kept on bumping and bruising her way through the darkness.

After what seemed like ages of self-inflicted injury, she reached her destination. Not even daring to take a breath, she shoved open the door roughly and slammed it shut behind her.

"Good Lord---!" Came a yelp through the darkness.

There was the faint sound of rummaging before a single candle illuminated the face of a ruffled Murtagh.

"What are you doing here?" He demanded tiredly.

Desdemona gaped. She hadn't really thought that far into this.

"Umm…." She said uncertainly, wrapped her arms around herself. She hadn't realized how cold it was in Tronjheim, and she hadn't bothered grabbing a jacket in her haste. "I-Um…I mean, I just thought…you know, that um…"

Murtagh's eyes had cleared now, and he stared at her. Amusement was evident in his features, although barely. His gaze went up and down her body, and she was more aware than ever that she was only wearing a thin nightgown. Goosebumps formed on her bare arms.

"Eragon knew, didn't he?" She said finally.

Murtagh dropped his gaze to the ground and nodded. They spent a few moments in silence before he raised his head again to stare back at her. His mouth opened and closed a few times, as though he wanted to say something but couldn't quite form the words. She was only slightly beyond that point.

"So, um…ever planning on telling me?" She said, almost jokingly and in a shaking lighthearted tone.

Murtagh didn't laugh, his face still withholding its serious quality. He caught the shake in her voice, but didn't say anything or move.

"Not that it matters," Desdemona said quickly, almost afraid of how many different ways her last statement could have been taken. "Well, it _does _matter. But it doesn't. At the…same…time. I think. Yeah. I mean, it is."

Now she had completely lost him. This was just absolutely wonderful. She had forced herself halfway across the mountain after pulling her hair out over what to do, to tell him something she couldn't even seem to put in words, which was _supposed_ to be something she was good at. Desdemona was now biting her lip distractedly while scratching her elbow. She would have been pacing if it hadn't been for the fact that suddenly she couldn't seem to move her feet. Instead, she was sort of twisting from side to side awkwardly, trying desperately to find anywhere to look besides Murtagh's face.

_Oh, get a grip!_

Desdemona finally stopped twisting and planted herself facing forward. Murtagh hadn't moved an inch. He just sat there looking at her. The look on his face was so much more sobered than usual, if that was possible, and she almost thought she saw panic in his face.

"Your identity," She started, trying to crawl back onto solid ground, "does not change who you are."

It had made perfect sense in her head. It was the perfect way of putting forth what she thought. Now it seemed like one of those things you think makes sense but sounds completely different to other people.

"I mean like who you are as a person," she said, not daring to chance a look at Murtagh's face while she tried to save herself, "Your name, who your parents are; none of that matters except who you are as a person….er…person-wise."

She closed her eyes and grimaced.

_That was bad. That was really bad. Oh God, I screwed it all up so bad._

She didn't open her eyes. The sounds of a blanket moving came and she thought she heard Murtagh get up. A few seconds later and she could feel the heat of his presence in front of her face.

"Desdemona?" She heard him ask.

Or at least, it must have been him. It was his voice, after all. Kind of low and growling, dark and clear at the same time. She still didn't move. She heard him exhale heavily.

"Come on…would you---? Just…please open your eyes."

That panic she had seen earlier in his face could now be heard in his voice. Now it was more of desperation. He had something to say, and needed to be heard. She felt a little bit of common sense return to her, and opened her eyes.

"I didn't tell you," Murtagh said, "because I didn't want you to think of me differently."

Spectacular as this new finding was, and oddly deep for Murtagh, Desdemona couldn't seem to process information very well at the moment. Her brain was still re-revving itself up over his face only inches from her own. She glanced at his lips, but then quickly looked up again wishing she hadn't.

"I don't," She managed.

She was starting to get lost again. She was noticing more about his eyes, his nose, his ears, his mouth, his face than ever before. His eyes were cold but warm at the same time. His ears curled over at the tops with a tenderness she would have thought impossible for him.

He let her stare. Maybe because he was staring back. Maybe not. He didn't react to her answer, but she could tell it had mattered to him. Slowly, he started to close the gap between their faces. She was still examining his face, but slowly detached and zoomed in on his eyes as he got closer…and kissed her.


End file.
